


Nightmares

by mm8



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Dark, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Suicidal Thoughts, Therapy, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-11
Updated: 2012-07-11
Packaged: 2017-11-09 15:33:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/457081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mm8/pseuds/mm8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somewhere all my darkest fears are gathering. It's not enough to save the day. I can't escape my nightmares.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightmares

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the February Amnesty Challenge at [hc_bingo](http://hc-bingo.livejournal.com/) and [this prompt](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/15253.html?thread=81378965#t81378965) at [sherlockbbc_fic](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/).
> 
> Many thanks to my betas [camembert-thief](http://camembert-thief.livejournal.com/), [lynnmyth23](http://lynnmyth23.livejournal.com/) and [luckychance](http://luckychance.livejournal.com/).

He wakes up screaming and shivering, sweat dripping down his bare back. His non-dominant hand is shaking violently. He tries his best to steady it with his left hand, going so far as pressing his hand on the bed to stay still, but it doesn't work. Finally, he gives up and begins to clench and unclench both his fists, breathing in and out slowly like his old therapist in Afghanistan had taught him. 

A few moments later he looks down at his hand. It isn't quivering as much as before. John Watson lies down on the hot, damp sheets in his motel room and falls asleep once more.

◊ ◊ ◊ 

__  
**Partial Transcript from session with Dr. John Watson on 20, January 2010 as recorded by Ella Thompson**  


_Ella Thompson: How are you doing today, John?_

_John Watson: Same as always. Might be catching a cold but it's nothing. You?_

_Ella Thompson : I'm fine, John. I'm sorry to hear about your cold, however. I often use an herbal tea I get from Chinatown when I'm feeling ill. It always seems to do the trick. Would you like me to give you some? I have a few bags in the lunch room._

_John Watson: No, thank you._

_Ella Thompson: If you change your mind you can let me know. I am always available to talk, John. You still have my mobile number?_

_John Watson: Yes, Ella. I have your mobile number. I called you today to say I was going to be five minutes late, remember?_

_Ella Thompson: I just want to reiterate that I am always available. Now, in our last session we discussed your relationship with your sister, Harriet. Before our time was up you stated that she has been an alcoholic for a number of years. Would you like to elaborate on that?_

_John Watson : No._

_Ella Thompson : Excuse me?_

_John Watson: No, I would not like to elaborate on my sister's alcoholism._

_Ella Thompson: Why, John?_

_John Watson: What does Harry have anything to do with me being here?_

_Ella Thompson: Well, I hope that with some work we can not only find the true cause of your difficulties with Harriet, but also work towards rebuilding that relationship. Having someone to lean on with your therapy will be very beneficial to you John. It has been proven, I can show you the studies if you like, that those with PSTD who have a support group will have a higher success rate of getting past the trauma they have been through than those who have no support at all. You have not been in touch with any of your old friends since you have been back in London, your parents are deceased, the only sort of support you will be able to have is from your sister, Harriet. Your relationship with her isn't the best; therefore, we have to work to repair it before she can become your—_

_John Watson: Harry can barely take care of herself. The last time I saw her she was so drunk she lost control of her bowels and didn't realize it for hours. How can you expect her to some kind of 'support' for me? It's ridiculous._

_Ella Thompson: John, why did you post on your blog this morning, 'How do I delete this'?_

_John Watson: Oh, saw that I was winning so you changed the subject?_

_Ella Thompson: John, please answer my question._

_John Watson: Because that blog is a complete waste of my time._

_Ella Thompson: You have posted in it exactly twice not including your last post. And every post consists of one sentence. You are not even trying, John. When you sit here before me, I see that you are trying to put up a shield in front of yourself so no one can get near you. But you know what I_ know _John? Your blogs speak louder than your actions. It breaks your disguise. Blog post number 1 is titled 'Nothing' and the entry reads the same. Blog post number 2 is titled 'Pointless'. In that entry a comrade of yours, Bill tries to get in contact with you but you ignore him. Post number 3 says 'How do I delete this?'. What are you talking about John? Do you want to delete the blog or your own life?_

◊ ◊ ◊ 

Another nightmare stirs him awake. This one hits too close to home for comfort. Inwardly he blames Ella for putting stupid thoughts inside his head during their last session. 

_He's killed himself. Hung from the shower rod in his dingy motel room and discovered by the maid that comes by once a week. His dog tags are down his throat to show shame, what the shame is for, is for others to interpret. He doesn't leave a note but his therapist and friends all give various theories for the suicide._

_No one comes to the funeral, except Harry who is blind drunk and screaming at his casket._

_He sees all this walking through the streets of London as a ghost, unsure of what to do next._

◊ ◊ ◊ 

He meets Bill at a pub down the street from his motel. It's not too far so his leg won't be killing him but it's not a place he'd want to go to meet up with his mates that often. 

Bill looks at him as if he's already has one foot in the grave. He says things to John like, "Hey, old man" and "You look like you've seen the end of time itself." 

But he does learn that Bill has got himself married and has had his honeymoon in the Virgin Islands. They also discuss recent news like the serial suicides. John doesn't mention his nightmares or thoughts of offing himself.

The meet-up isn't a total loss. He feels better for having seen Bill again. He owes the man a great deal, for whatever it's worth.

◊ ◊ ◊ 

The first night at 221B in his new soft bed on the second floor, he awakes screaming, grasping the bed sheets for dear life. The images from his too vivid dream still in his head. 

_Blood. So much blood and torn off flesh and raw bone._

_He is trying his damnest to revive a fellow soldier, blood all over his hands but as much as he tries the solider just lies there in the sand, his eyes wide open._

_John grabs the dead soldier's rifle and lets out a guttural cry as he fires on the civilian crowd without mercy._

_Once his bullets run out, his mind becomes clear and he sees the damage he's done. The person he truly is. The danger he is._

John claws at his own face and hair. Tears are running down his cheeks. Even after a day like yesterday, after he saved the day, saved Sherlock's life, he still can't escape his nightmares. 

There's a light tap at the door, John looks up. "John? Are you alright?" There's a small pause and more rapping at the door. "I am unsure of the proper social protocol for this situation. If you want to me go I will. I could… get you tea and leave it at your door." Sherlock offers. 

John thinks about the possibilities. "Yes, tea would be lovely. Thanks."

He's surprised when he hears a clunk against the floor next to his door. "I took the liberty of making the tea ahead of time." John hears the floorboards creak as though Sherlock is shifting his weight. "If it helps, John, you are only a hero in the sense that people call you one."

After John assures himself that Sherlock has gone back downstairs, he creeps out of his bed and opens the door. Lying on the ground is indeed, a cup of tea. When he sips it he is repulsed that it is freezing cold but accepts it anyway and takes it back into his bedroom and sets it on his nightstand when he is finished. He is relaxed as he slumps back into the mattress. He can hear Sherlock pacing back and forth below and it is comforting somehow.

He sleeps soundly for the rest of the night.

**Author's Note:**

> * Kudos are amazing and I will never stop asking for them, but getting comments, actual feedback from readers means so much. Taking five seconds out of your time can really make my day.
>   
> 
> * You can follow me on [tumblr](http://mm8fic.tumblr.com/).
>   
> 


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